Painting "A Strange Move Called Life"

will you be in the film of my life,
will you find me before the lights come on in the hall,
will you stand at the bow of the Titanic as the iceberg rises,
will you love me at the end, will you love me?
.................

I was born, opened my eyes and it was beautiful:
princesses and princes, Teletubbies' meadow,
angels in the sky among pink clouds,
home - a yellow brick road.

And then I would see a man and a woman
and how they traveled around the world,
and it seemed that I traveled with them,
that the story – is mine and yours.

I would draw them in the margins,
on reports and between excel rows,
among the gray everyday - in bright colors -
as if I were that traveling man myself.

And one night I dreamt,
that something was written for me in the sky,
I went out onto the balcony and looked up,
but I couldn't read the stars.

And just a feeling that it was terribly important,
and that if I could understand,
everything would be different and I myself would change.
And I watched the sky every night.

I even took my bed out onto the roof of the house
and, lying among the chimneys and antennas,
I spent the whole summer learning to read the stars.
And now I saw - I am not alone.

A little further, at the other edge of the roof,
curled up in an armchair, wrapped in a scarf,
a woman sits, looking at the sky,
and I feel so good,
that I am not alone in reading the stars,
that I am not alone in dreaming like this
and, getting out of bed, I approach
and sit at the feet of that woman.

And then I suddenly understand,
that I see not constellations in the sky,
but letters and words, and what is written:
that we are watching a movie,
and that we are not in the first row,
but there, deeper - behind the screen,
that we ourselves are the movie,
that we live in that movie.
And I say, would you like to try together:
our movie would be in color,
maybe a little about love, about a journey,
about everything we would come up with together.

In the dark I feel your smile,
you silently extend your hand,
a warm palm rests in mine,
and that is enough for me.

And then I look into your eyes,
I see my own reflection as if:
what I am - good or bad,
but more importantly - what I can be for you.

You know, I can't act,
and I won't be a Bathonian, I won't be a Fellini
but throughout the film of our lives
I will hold you in my arms.
.......